


more, give me more

by psidn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Horror, M/M, No Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psidn/pseuds/psidn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghosts are not always persons. Tsukishima gets a little haunting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> no warnings for this first chapter, but if you would like some advanced warning for upcoming chapters, [please click this link](http://psidn.tumblr.com/ghost-story). i will be updating every thursday until the end of october, and will be providing this link to warnings each time. title from fever ray’s ‘if i had a heart’.
> 
> a WORLD of thanks to [sk](http://stoppit-keepout.tumblr.com)/[toomanyhometowns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyhometowns/), my beta and fandom half and this fic’s aunt. HI SK. i’m so glad you’re there. when i yell. about sports anime. [sniff] thanks. may we always have some fandoms in common at any given point in time. <3
> 
> ETA: if you are interested, here's what i listened to while writing [link](http://8tracks.com/psidn/feeling-mostly-affectionate-and-concerned-mostly-about-death)

Tsukishima wakes up early one morning after a very good dream, disgusted with himself. He wishes he’d had a nightmare instead. 

He throws the sheets off and sits up. His mouth feels unpleasantly hot and dry, and his mind is sifting through his thoughts too slowly for his liking. The night before had been unusually humid, so he’d been sleeping in shorts, and now when he rests his hands on his bare knees, they feel too warm to the touch. 

He closes his eyes and breathes in and out through his nose. _It’s going to be fine_ , he thinks to himself as he willfully pushes the dream from his mind.

\--

When he heads out, he sees Yamaguchi already coming up the road, humming to himself. Tsukishima makes sure to keep his hands in his pockets as Yamaguchi jolts straight up at the sight of him, jogging the rest of the way to catch up.

“Tsukki!” he shouts. “Good morning!”

Tsukishima openly stares at Yamaguchi’s face. He remembers how dry his mouth had felt when he woke up. He looks away, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“Good morning,” he says, belatedly. His hands are sweating in his pockets. He pulls them out. “It’s hot out, isn’t it.”

Yamaguchi lets out a long breath, exaggerated. “ _So_ hot. I don’t know how we’re going to manage practices, especially with,” he glances at Tsukishima, smirking, “your fans. They got pretty whiny yesterday.”

Tsukishima clicks his tongue, and frowns at his shoes. “They’re not my fans.”

“The first-years love you and your blocking lessons, Tsukki! It almost makes me jealous!”

Tsukishima looks back at Yamaguchi, who's laughing to himself, surprised by the statement to stare outright. “Why?” he asks.

“O-oh!” Yamaguchi stutters, his eyes widening. “Well, I guess because it must be nice, having people depend on you like that.” He rubs at the back of his neck, then tugs at his hair. “Uh, Tsukki?”

He’d still been staring, Tsukishima realizes. He turns his head. “I guess,” he says, and doesn’t point out that the team depends on Yamaguchi too. He can’t think of a way to say that without betraying something else, something Yamaguchi probably wouldn't want to hear anymore.

Yamaguchi smiles, the big, wide smile that crinkles his eyes and makes Tsukishima feel like it’s all that matters. “It _is_ nice, right?”

\--

Everything Yamaguchi does is setting Tsukishima on edge today:

1\. When they get to the school gate, he yawns, pressing a hand to his mouth, his face scrunching up, and when he’s done there’s some moisture in the corner of his eyes. He shakes his head and widens his eyes in a comical way, like he’s surprised himself with the force of his yawn.

“Guess I’m tired,” he says, sheepish.

 _Cute_ , Tsukishima thinks, despite himself.

2\. During lunch, which they share together on a bench outside, Yamaguchi hums a little tune to himself in between bites.

They’ve both removed their gakurans in the mid-day heat, which beats down mercilessly. Yamaguchi frequently slips a finger under his shirt collar, moving it back and forth to let in some cooler air. It’s very distracting, when his finger bumps against his adam’s apple, and he’s humming that infuriating tune all the way through.

Tsukishima keeps his headphones off the entire time.

3\. At afternoon practice, when Yamaguchi’s doing his stretches, he puts his hair into a tiny ponytail. Most of his hair is long enough to reach the tie, and there’s something about the tightness there at the root of the tie, all the hair come together in a twist, that makes it hard for Tsukishima to look away.

When he finally does, it’s to get his gaze caught on the hairs that were too short to make it, wisps clinging to each other and to Yamaguchi’s neck. 

Yamaguchi turns his head just then, throwing a big smile over his shoulder, teeth shining under the fluorescent gymnasium lights.

4\. At Tsukishima’s house that evening, Yamaguchi pulls out a small package of strawberries from his bag.

“It’s not their best season, and don’t think I didn’t notice you being miserable about it,” he says, slyly. “But Shimada-san gave me some to share yesterday after practice.”

“Shimada-san, huh,” Tsukishima says, and takes the best-looking strawberry off the top.

\--

That night Tsukishima sternly tells himself to have a dreamless sleep.

He wakes up while it’s still dark out, the neckline of his shirt soaked with sweat. The back of his throat is dry, and he’s shaking as he sits up. There’s something-- _someone_ , in the room with him. He can hear the heavy, shuddering breathing.

“Who’s there,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

There’s a wretched, pitiful moan. It sounds like someone trying to hide their crying, hiccuping and wet.

The sweat-soaked parts of Tsukishima’s shirt feel cold against his skin. Tsukishima is painfully aware of how fast his chest is rising and falling. He swallows past his dry throat. He opens his mouth to ask another question when a breath is knocked into him.

It feels like he’s swallowing a breeze, drowning in a gust of wind. The air that’s rushing in dries him up even more, so that when it finally stops, he starts coughing.

There’s a knock on his door and Tsukishima freezes, his heartbeat racketing further up.

“Yes?” he says, a tremble to his voice.

“Kei, are you alright? Do you want me to bring you some water?”

It’s just his mother. Tsukishima lets out a breath of relief. He gets up to open the door and peers down into his mother’s worried face. He has to squint to see her properly.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Sorry for waking you up. I’ll get it myself, don’t worry about me.”

“Alright,” she says, her expression relaxing. “Make sure you go back to sleep.”

Tsukishima goes to the kitchen and gets himself a glass of water. He downs it in two huge swallows, and puts the glass in the sink. He goes back to his room and closes the door softly.

The sound of breathing is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter and future chapters at [this link](http://psidn.tumblr.com/ghost-story)

When Tsukishima wakes up again, at a more reasonable time, he sees a huge eye on his ceiling, staring at him. There’s a reflection of himself in the pupil, frozen in shock, and the scream he could let out dies in his throat. The eye blinks, slowly, its long eyelashes brushing against Tsukishima’s entire front.

Tsukishima makes a sound he can’t even classify, and shuts his own eyes, waiting for it to be over.

After a minute, he looks again. There’s no eye.

He reaches for his glasses, shoving them onto his face, adrenaline fizzing through him, the pulse in his throat going fast.

\--

Yamaguchi’s by his side on their walk to morning practice, but Tsukishima keeps thinking of the eye. It had been large enough and close enough that he could see the blood vessels, could see the wetness of it. He shivers.

“Are you alright?” Yamaguchi asks, while fanning the back of his neck in an attempt to deal with the heavy summer air. “You seem kind of off.” He brushes a hand against Tsukishima’s arm and Tsukishima jerks back, the sense memory of the eyelashes replacing Yamaguchi’s touch.

Yamaguchi stops and frowns at Tsukishima, and then at his own hand. “Hey, if you…” he trails off. “If you feel awkward about something, you know, it’s. I can stop. But,” he peers closely into Tsukishima’s face, “you look sick, Tsukki.”

There’s no way he can tell Yamaguchi the truth. If he did, he knows that concerned look would take on a different meaning, maybe suggestions to talk to someone. Tsukishima doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wants to forget his wake-up call.

He remembers he woke up in the middle of the night, and figures it’s a good excuse. “I just had some trouble sleeping,” he says, and adjusts his glasses. “You worry too much,” he adds for good measure. 

\--

 _My mistake was thinking it was an isolated incident_ , Tsukishima thinks to himself in class, as he avoids looking at the walls. There are eyes looking out from them, spaced randomly wherever there’s plaster, as big as fists.

They all watch him, patient, blinking, calm, and terrifying.

\--

At lunch Hinata and Kageyama burst into his classroom, loud and annoying. They come up to his desk, and there’s no social buffer; Yamaguchi had left the moment lunch started, giving Tsukishima an indecipherable look before rushing out. The eyes are still there.

Hinata looks at Tsukishima and puffs out his cheeks. “We need help with math!”

Tsukishima turns to stare at Kageyama, keeping his gaze averted from the walls.

Kageyama rolls his eyes. “We need help with math,” he says.

“What happened to Yachi-san?” Tsukishima asks flatly.

Hinata wrings his hands, his eyes gone big. “She’s sick today,” he says. Kageyama nods.

“Sick of you, maybe,” Tsukishima says, as Hinata squawks back and Kageyama looks murderous. He takes a glance at the walls. The eyes are still there, but they’re not looking at him; instead they’ve rolled back, so far he can only see the whites between the eyelids. He almost chokes on his own breath.

He looks back at Hinata and Kageyama, who are having a normal day. He glares at them.

“This is a one time offer,” he says as he clears off his desk. “So don’t come running to me every day.”

“Wow,” Hinata whispers. “Stingy-shima thinks we’re _worthy_.”

Kageyama smirks. “Yachi’s been teaching us vocabulary words,” he says.

“And it worked? Maybe she should look into cold fusion too,” Tsukishima says, despite being a little impressed with Yachi’s patience. Kageyama and Hinata give him twin clueless looks. Tsukishima waves his hand in front of his face. “Joke for me,” he adds, lightly.

He takes another look at the eyes on the walls. They’re doing strange things, rolling around in their sockets. He presses on.

“So, what simple thing did you manage to misunderstand?”

By the time they’ve gone over both of their abysmal exam papers (and promised not to bother Tsukishima for a tutoring session before practice), lunch is over, Yamaguchi has come back, and Tsukishima has managed to ignore the walls for half an hour.

\--

Tsukishima is not holding out much hope for practice. All during afternoon classes, the flutter of eyelashes have been on the edge of his vision, and he’d broken into a sweat unrelated to the heat several times, wiping at his brow and neck. Now, in the clubroom, the eyes are there again, blinking just a little bit out of synch from each other. He locks himself up in a bathroom stall to change, not daring to look up at the ceiling.

When he comes back to the main room dressed for practice, Kageyama’s frowning at him and Tanaka’s laughing.

“Never thought I’d see you be stuffy about this shit!” Tanaka shouts, looking around for Nishinoya so he can share. “What, you don’t want us to see your knees? Hiding some impressive abs?”

Nishinoya comes in at just that moment. “Abs?” he asks, perking up. “Where? I wanna see. I have a right to see!”

Tanaka gives Tsukishima a serious look. “You heard the man. Lift your shirt, abs are meant to be seen.”

“Please don’t talk about--” Tsukishima starts, and stops before he can finish saying ‘being seen,’ because that would definitely get weird looks. Instead he says, “I’m leaving now. Bye.”

“You can’t leave without showing me your abs!” Nishinoya shouts as Tsukishima closes the door behind him. He can still hear Tanaka laughing.

\--

Ennoshita is waiting right inside the door to the gym.

“Ennoshita-san,” Tsukishima says, politely, when he slips in. He casts a glance around the gym; more eyes, all looking at him. His shoulders rise instinctively, and Ennoshita gives him a look, eyebrows raised.

“I had an interesting conversation today,” he says, crossing his arms.

“Oh?” Tsukishima says, pushing his glasses up a touch.

“Yamaguchi stopped by and told me you were feeling sick. And so," Ennoshita tilts his head in thought, "now I’m wondering, why are you here?”

Tsukishima doesn’t quite believe this, but it does explain where Yamaguchi had gone during lunch. “He told you I was sick?”

“Maybe not in so many words.” Ennoshita smiles. It’s not reassuring. “But I don’t need him to tell me anything. You look like you’re going to fall over. Go home, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima panics. There’s no other way to describe what he does. “Ennoshita-san, please,” he whispers. “I, uh.” He swallows, hooks his pointer fingers together. “I don’t very much want to be alone right now.”

Ennoshita leans forward, and speaks quietly. “Are you worried about something?”

“Yes,” Tsukishima says, because he doesn’t know how else to say ‘there are eyes in the walls watching me and I’m scared of being left alone with them.’

Ennoshita was made captain for good reason, so he asks, without even looking embarrassed, “Do you want to talk about it?” Tsukishima shakes his head and Ennoshita sighs. “If you were Hinata or Kageyama, I’d be forcing this,” he says. “But I know you’re more likely to take time off practice if you were sick.” He pauses, frowning, and then adds, “Alright, but I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Tsukishima tries not to visibly wince at the wording, but given the concerned look Ennoshita throws his way, he’s failed.

“Well? Go start your drills, then.”

Tsukishima nods, and finds Yamaguchi stretching in a corner while chatting with Hinata.

“Woah, scaaary,” Hinata says when he sees Tsukishima approaching them. Hinata hasn’t actually been scared of Tsukishima in months. He laughs, and throws the volleyball he’d been holding into the air. “Out of the way!” he shouts and jumps up to smack it into the ground.

Tsukishima knocks the ball out of the air before Hinata can get to it. Narita, who’d been doing stretches a good five metres away, manages to catch it and slowly shakes his head at Tsukishima.

“Respect the ball!” Hinata barks, and runs after Narita.

“What are you doing here?” Yamaguchi asks. “Didn’t--”

“Ennoshita-san? Yes, he did,” Tsukishima says. “What was that about? You couldn’t have told me what you were thinking?”

Yamaguchi gives him an exasperated look. “You didn’t notice when I did, so it’s your own fault. You haven’t said a word to me at school all day, you know.”

Tsukishima looks at Yamaguchi properly for the first time today. He looks serious and worried. Tsukishima feels guilty.

“Oh,” he says.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Yamaguchi says, mouth twisting, looking to the side. “Well, if you’re sticking around we may as well do our drills.”

\--

At one point during practice Tsukishima gets pushed against the wall, or maybe he falls against it, or maybe… 

All he can remember is the feel of many tiny eyes blinking furiously against his skin, eyelashes like little moth wings.

\--

Tsukishima wants to leave the clubroom after practice, but Nishinoya’s blocking the door with his body. Yamaguchi gives them both a funny look.

“Noya-san,” Tsukishima starts, but gets interrupted.

“I’m here to collect your toll.”

“What.”

“A look of your abs. That’s all these eyes require.”

Yamaguchi blinks. Nishinoya’s eyes are closed as he says this, busy striking a pose, so he doesn’t see the way Tsukishima jerks and checks on the walls.

Luckily Hinata’s heading out at the same time. “Noya-senpai, look at my abs! Much better than Tsukishima’s.” He pulls up his shirt.

“Wow, Shouyou!” Nishinoya cries. “These are so beautiful!”

“They’re my jumping muscles,” Hinata says, head poised to the side for a humble air.

“Your _jumping_ muscles,” Nishinoya says reverently, hand hovering mid-way between the two of them.

From somewhere behind them comes the sound of tearing fabric. Everyone turns around to see Kageyama holding a ripped shirt. “Why are you so dumb,” he hisses at Hinata, who sticks his tongue out, still holding his shirt up. “Also, you said you’d wait for me!”

“Okay, your fee has been collected,” Tsukishima says, pushing past the blockade by the door, but not without giving Hinata’s exposed stomach a look out of curiosity. It’s alright, as far as stomachs go.

He sees the eyes on the far wall tracking him. He closes the door quickly once Yamaguchi’s joined him outside.

“Our upperclassmen can be weird,” Yamaguchi says, thoughtfully. “I’m glad Nishinoya-san didn’t ask me to lift my shirt.”

Tsukishima blushes, and then feels pathetic for it. 

\--

Home is much worse than school or club because there’s nothing to distract him from the eyes that just keep multiplying. By the time he crawls into bed, Tsukishima is a wreck, and there are at least twenty eyes near his bed that he could reach with his arm.

He’s wondering how he’ll ever fall asleep when the eyes start to cry.

Tsukishima jerks and stares at the tears that drip down. There’s no soft curve of a cheek to divert the flow, only the flat surface of his walls, giving the illusion of strange salt waterfalls all around him, joining up with each other the closer they get to the floor. For the eyes on his ceiling, larger than the ones on the walls, he can see the tears clinging to their eyelashes, and finally falling onto his bed when they blink close. 

_If I don’t die of stress, I’ll die of drowning_ , he thinks.

\--

Tsukishima wakes up at some point in the early AM, to a dry, eye-less room, not knowing how or when he fell asleep. He blinks, reaching for his phone, and frowns when he sees the date. If it was all a dream (it wasn't), then it took up an entire, real, day.

Whatever it was, it’s over, and that’s a relief. He turns to go back to sleep when a sound stops him. It’s the same crying sound from the night before, but it’s coming from him. Not from his mouth, just, from him.

There’s a frantic pounding, little fists against his chest, but from within. Tsukishima sits up in his bed and looks around his room. He puts a hand to his chest to feel his heart. It’s where it should be and beating fine, maybe a little fast. The pounding starts again, and it startles Tsukishima, how much it feels like whatever’s causing it is throwing a tantrum, somewhere behind his sternum, inside his body.

“Hello?” he says, into the dark of his room. And then again, “Hello?” as he bends his head forward to look at his own chest.

The sound of crying starts up again.

“Is that… were the eyes your fault?”

The crying slows down a bit, like it’s pleased. 

“Why?” Tsukishima asks, not expecting an answer, but then he’s hit with the memory of two mornings ago, when he’d wished he’d had nightmares instead of…

“Okay, well, I don’t want nightmares anymore,” he says. He’s hit with the same memory. “No,” he says. “That’s over. I’d rather have dirty dreams. Anyone would rather have dirty dreams. So, it’s over now.”

Again, the memory replays itself.

Tsukishima lies back down and stays very still. The sound of crying starts up again, and then cuts off, abruptly. He lets out a shudder of a breath, but otherwise there’s only silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter and future chapters at [this link](http://psidn.tumblr.com/ghost-story)

_There’s no one else in this bed_ , Tsukishima thinks the next morning, even though he can hear someone breathing heavily next to his ear. It’s a laboured sound, with little hitches in the breath.

The sound follows him out of bed and through breakfast, through getting ready for school, all the way through standing by his door in the stifling heat, waiting for Yamaguchi. When he shows up, the breathing goes away. Tsukishima lets out a sigh of relief.

“You seem better today!” Yamaguchi says, and his voice sounds wrong, it's someone else's voice, and the feeling of relief leaves Tsukishima completely. “Or… not, actually. Are you sure you don’t want to stay home?”

“I’ll manage,” Tsukishima says.

\--

Tsukishima doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to manage. Everyone around him has the same voice. Yamaguchi, his teammates, his teachers, his classmates, students in the hallways, everyone.

It’s a disconcertingly familiar voice too. For a while he thought it might be his brother’s, but that’s not quite right, and he can’t put his finger on it, which makes the whole experience worse. Every time someone speaks, he wants them to stop, but he also wants to figure out whose voice it is.

Worse still, he misses Yamaguchi’s voice.

\--

At lunch, Tsukishima sneaks off before Yamaguchi can notice, to get away from everyone and their voices. The moment he’s alone, the breathing starts again, heavy and desperate, right behind him.

“Shit,” he says, in his own, normal, voice.

He slumps against the wall, by the clubhouse. The breathing reminds him uncomfortably of when he woke up from his dream two days ago. It’s got an edge of heat to it, dissatisfaction too. Tsukishima reaches into his bag and fumbles for his headphones and his music. 

He slips on his headphones and queues up a playlist. Instead of the familiar opening notes, he hears a thin, lonely voice singing a sad little tune. There are no backing instruments, but once in a while there are tired claps, and the singing switches to whistling and then back. Tsukishima waits for the song to end, and it does, with a soft sigh. Then it starts up again, from the beginning.

Tsukishima skips forward three songs. The same song starts over from the beginning. He switches playlists. Same song. He hits pause. The song keeps playing.

He pulls the headphone jack out of its little plug. It keeps playing.

He yanks his headphones off completely, and even from where they lay on the ground, he can hear that soft voice singing to him, as clear as if it were crooning straight into his ear. 

He stuffs the headphones into his bag, and either it’s too muffled to hear now, or it’s stopped. There’s sweat gathering under the nose pads of his glasses; he pushes them up and rubs at the bridge of his nose, then swipes across his hairline with the inside of his wrist. 

The heavy breathing has started up again, right behind his ear, as though its imaginary owner were pressing themselves right along his back.

\--

“Where were you?” Yamaguchi asks, before their first afternoon class starts. All around them, their classmates all talk in the same voice, the sound of breathing long dissolved into that mess.

Tsukishima picks at the thumbnail on his left hand. “Taking care of something. Hey," he says, as if the thought just struck him, "can I stay over at yours tonight?”

The way he sees it, he won’t be able to sleep with disembodied breathing next his ear all night long, but Yamaguchi’s breathing will be fine. More than fine. It’s a matter of picking the least unpleasant option. 

Yamaguchi gives him a concerned, considering look. “Of course,” he says. “Tsukki, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

It’s weird to hear the nickname that only Yamaguchi uses in a voice that isn’t Yamaguchi’s. Tsukishima ignores it and says, “Yeah, I’ll call my mother before practice.”

Yamaguchi lets out a sigh that ruffles his hair.

\--

Tsukishima tunes out the rest of his classes and lets his mind wander.

What makes a person like another person, as something other than a friend? Is it an accumulation of moments spent together? Or does it not matter how much time, as long as there was a catalyst? Tsukishima knows what his catalyst was, but he doesn’t know what Yamaguchi’s was. Maybe there never was a catalyst for Yamaguchi’s feelings to start, and that leads Tsukishima to another worry he has: does that make his own feelings less genuine than Yamaguchi’s? If Yamaguchi’s feelings started up naturally, on their own? Slowly, and surely? Whereas for Tsukishima it was one moment he thought nothing of it, and the next he couldn’t stop thinking of it; there was a distinct before and after; like night and day, except that night and day still do bleed into each other. Does that make his own feelings artificial, second-rate, not good enough? Does it matter, if it's all just chemicals, anyway?

And then, what makes a person stop liking another person? What makes someone’s feelings diminish in that respect, what catalyst is there for that? Tsukishima can’t imagine right now that anything would stop the feelings he has, but he’s sure, absolutely sure, he knows what did it for Yamaguchi.

And then, could a person, a person part of a very strong friendship, also stop wanting to be friends? If they could so easily turn off other feelings, what would stop them from turning off their friendship? The intricacies of romance escape Tsukishima a lot of the time, but he feels like so do the intricacies of friendship. Lately, and with more frequency, he thinks he’s living on borrowed time, and one day Yamaguchi will look at him and think, “This? This is what I spent so much of my time with?”

“ _Tsukki!_ ” Yamaguchi says, nearly five centimetres from his face.

“Yes?” Tsukishima asks, looking around. Everyone’s either packing up to leave or has already left. “I was just thinking about stuff,” he says, when he sees Yamaguchi smiling at him, something soft and delicate. Tsukishima wants, with startling conviction, to always have Yamaguchi look at him like that.

“When _aren’t_ you thinking about stuff?” Yamaguchi turns away, swinging his bag. “We should head over quick, Hinata and Kageyama came by during lunch for tutoring but I said you’d have to do it before practice like usual.”

Tsukishima follows after him, frowning. “They shouldn’t have, I told them yesterday I won’t tutor them during lunch again.”

“Hm,” Yamaguchi says, and in the silence that follows starts humming that tune he likes.

Hearing it sends chills down Tsukishima’s back. It’s the same tune that played instead of his music, and he feels incredibly stupid for not having realized it before.

“I have to go…” he trails off. Yamaguchi stops in his tracks and turns around to look, questioning. “Call my mother. About staying over. I’ll meet you at the clubroom,” Tsukishima says, as he walks away, quickly.

\--

He ends up behind the gym, because the best place to hide is usually the most obvious. He texts his mother instead of calling her, because there’s no way he wants to hear her with the wrong voice through a phone.

The breathing's started up again, which Tsukishima was expecting, but it's somehow worse now, wetter, closer, unsatisfied.

Tsukishima looks down at his chest and carefully asks, "Is it you?"

The breathing speeds up, with a bit of a laugh to it.

"Why?" Tsukishima asks, miserably, and gets hit with the same memory he got as a reply the night before. "Do you even have anything else to give me?" he hisses, more daring than is probably safe. He feels wild with stress and anxiety, wants to lash out.

A curl of pleasure runs through him, foreign enough that he knows it's not his, that it belongs to whatever this thing is, his… his… ghost.

Before he can say anything else, he gets dipped into another memory.

\--

Tsukishima can identify it as a memory because it's got the same feeling as the other one that gets replayed, but otherwise it's not one he's familiar with, not one of his own.

He knows this because he's looking at an unfamiliar version of himself. Unfamiliar because the angle he has to look up is higher than when he looks into a mirror, and he's been flipped over the vertical axis. It's all off.

He remembers this day though. He has a matching memory of his own from this day. So this must be Yamaguchi's memory.

He looks down and sees Yamaguchi's hand (his hand in this moment) gripping his memory self’s wrist.

"Yes?" he hears himself say, a curious look in his eyes. "What is it?"

\--

"Fuck you," Tsukishima spits at his ghost. His heart is racing and his palms are sweaty. That's not a memory he wanted to re-live from any perspective, and also...

The voices he's been hearing coming from other people's mouths have been his own.

"You're sick, you know that?" Tsukishima asks, helplessly.

“Who’s sick?” someone asks, and Tsukishima has to look around to see who, because it is, as it has been all day long, his own voice coming out from other people’s bodies.

Hinata's standing in front of him, face red and shining with exertion.

"Is it you?" he asks, frowning and shaking the collar of his shirt to cool off. "Are you sick? Are you talking to yourself?"

Tsukishima blinks up at him, belatedly realizing he's sunk to the ground. "No," he says, in a daze. It's half a lie.

Hinata takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, like he's thinking very carefully about Tsukishima's reply. He fixes Tsukishima with one of his intense stares, the one he pulls out without even realizing it, hard enough to cow people twice his height. "Okay," he says, as though he couldn't burn through metal with that look. "Then there's no reason for having missed our tutoring session, and no reason for skipping practice."

Tsukishima opens his mouth and then closes it. He'd been about to agree just to avoid the topic, but something about Hinata, who's now turned to look up at the sky, catches him off-guard. He's small, there's no denying it, but his personality isn't, and it surprises Tsukishima that he would give up so easily.

"You're not going to force the issue?"

Hinata turns back to look at him. He shrugs. "You're, what, one of the smartest kids in our year? If you say you're not sick, then you're not sick."

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Tsukishima asks, instead of trying to figure out what that might mean, coming from Hinata.

"Punishment laps," Hinata says, scowling, and suddenly he's himself again, or rather, the version of himself Tsukishima is more familiar with, the one that's easy to make fun of. "I was trying to get the first years excited for practice, but Coach said I made them _too_ excited."

Tsukishima gets up, brushing himself off, and turns to head to the clubroom to get changed. “You should get back to those laps,” he says.

Hinata sticks his tongue out at him and takes off.

\--

At Ukai’s corner store, Nishinoya sings along to the pop song that must be playing on the speakers, in Tsukishima’s voice, bopping his head along to the tune. The only music Tsukishima can actually hear is the soft voice that had come from his headphones before, singing Yamaguchi’s tune. When the voice stops to whistle, the sharpness of the sound is even more at odds with Nishinoya’s singing.

Tsukishima leaves without buying anything, waits for Yamaguchi to join him outside in the heavy air of the evening.

\--

That night Tsukishima lies on Yamaguchi’s guest futon, by Yamaguchi’s bed. The breathing he can hear is reassuring. It is soft, sleep breathing, and it’s coming from Yamaguchi, who is a real, live, human being.

 _So why can’t I fall asleep?_ Tsukishima asks himself.

It’s probably the stress, which has left him exhausted but also unable to relax. Knowing this doesn’t help. Tsukishima rolls over to his side and curls his body into a fetal position. He whispers into his chest, “Where did you come from?”

His ghost stirs. It feels like small cold fingers running up and down his insides. It pushes another memory to Tsukishima’s mind.

\--

It’s a sunny afternoon, post training camp of first year, a few weeks after the Shiratorizawa game. Tsukishima had gotten his act together, somewhat and in some ways, regarding volleyball; he supposes that Yamaguchi took that to mean he’d gotten other aspects of his life together too, which was not true.

It’s been an altogether unremarkable day, although he’s noticed that Yamaguchi had seemed restless, constantly wiping his hands on his uniform slacks, then on his volleyball shorts, then back on his slacks. He’s stopped now, in the middle of their walk back home, and he’s turned to face Tsukishima, head tilted slightly upwards and eyes wide. He reaches out to grasp Tsukishima’s wrist, and his palms feel a bit damp, mildly unpleasant.

Tsukishima’s stopped in his tracks too, and he asks, feeling curious, “Yes? What is it?”

Yamaguchi’s mouth pinches a bit, and he gets that stubborn look he’s been pulling out more often these days, and he leans upwards, and he kisses Tsukishima. It’s a light fluttering thing, a brief brush, and Tsukishima will later think of it as too insubstantial for the amount of havoc it’s caused him.

Yamaguchi pulls back. Tsukishima stares at him, distantly realizes his mouth has dropped open. Yamaguchi presses a hand to his own mouth, and his shoulders hunch up, and he rushes out, “Sorry, Tsukki!” more earnest than his usual apologies. He looks away, shaking his head and laughing it off. He walks away.

Tsukishima carefully presses his hands together, lining up his fingers. Index to index, middle to middle, ring to ring, pinky to pinky. He shifts his right hand a few degrees counter clockwise and then folds his fingers over. When he’s done, he notices Yamaguchi has stopped a few metres ahead, standing completely still.

“I’m coming,” Tsukishima says, and watches as Yamaguchi’s shoulders relax, head dropping down in relief.

\--

Tsukishima's curled into himself even tighter by the time his ghost is done showing him his own memory.

"That makes no sense," Tsukishima hisses.

"Tsukki?" Yamaguchi says in his own, sleep-soft, voice.

Tsukishima nearly whips out from under his sheets in his surprise. He crawls towards the bed to look at Yamaguchi. He's blinking slowly, and turns his head into his pillow to yawn.

"Did I wake you up? Sorry," Tsukishima says. Yamaguchi gives him a look like he knows Tsukishima's not sorry at all. Tsukishima licks his lips. "Can I..." he trails off, leaning forward and laying his head on the mattress, next to where Yamaguchi's resting a hand.

Yamaguchi pushes himself to the side and lifts the thin sheet he’d been sleeping under. Tsukishima crawls in.

“Haven’t done this since we were kids,” Yamaguchi mumbles, his eyes a little more alert.

“I was having trouble sleeping,” Tsukishima whispers. It feels wrong to speak too loudly, like he might break something precious if he does.

Yamaguchi yawns again. “Okay, well. Goodnight, Tsukki.”

The ghost in him warms up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you're interested) this is not necessarily the song tsukishima hears and yamaguchi hums, but it is the one i listened to: [O Willow Waly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0uNJp15p3M)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter and the next one at [this link](http://psidn.tumblr.com/ghost-story)

Next morning, Tsukishima wakes up to find that Yamaguchi’s already gotten up and put the futon away. His spot in the bed’s not even warm with body heat anymore.

Something within him stirs, and Tsukishima realizes it’s his ghost. He lies still.

The ghost seems to notice Yamaguchi is gone too. It does not seem pleased at all. It releases that awful crying sound it had used the first night.

“Shut up!” Tsukishima says. “You want him to hear you?”

The wailing dissolves into sniffles, and then into a self-satisfied feeling. It's too quiet and smug, and Tsukishima understands why when he moves to pull the blankets off.

He's lying in a bed made of hair, long strands sliding against each other and against his skin. When he sits up, instead of bunching around his waist, the sheet falls apart into chunks of hair, pieces that slip past him, fall to the floor.

Tsukishima presses a hand to his mouth to tamp down on his nausea. He shuts his eyes in the hopes that it makes it easier to ignore the feel of loose hairs, but it doesn't make a difference. He clambers out of bed and out of the room, stumbles into the washroom.

The room reflected in the mirror looks safe and real. He doesn't, though. He looks awful. Dark bags under his eyes, his skin an unhealthy pale, his hair limp with sweat. But that doesn't matter.

Tsukishima ends up going back to Yamaguchi's bedroom to change into his uniform. Everything’s back to normal, but Tsukishima knows by now not to hope the same for the rest of his day.

There's a knock on the door. "Tsukki!" Yamaguchi says, opening the door and rendering the knocking useless. "Are you ready to go? I've got melon bread for you."

He throws the crinkly packet at Tsukishima, who catches it. Yamaguchi smiles. If it weren't for his ghost and all related incidents, Tsukishima thinks this could be a perfect morning.

\--

Yachi's at morning practice for the first time in two days. Yamaguchi sees her first, and waves at her across the gym. She waves back, and when warm-ups are done, she walks up to them.

"Hello," Yamaguchi says, kindly. "Are you feeling better today?"

"Ah, yes! I'm not contagious anymore, either," she says, her voice rougher than usual. "A summer cold! Tuesday was the worst of it, though, although yesterday was quite bad too." She turns to Tsukishima and blinks nervously. "Ah, Tsukishima-kun, Hinata and Kageyama-kun told me they've been bothering you during lunch about tutoring, but I'll make sure that doesn't happen again!"

"It's fine," Tsukishima says, switching the volleyball he's holding from one hand to the other. He wipes at the sweat on his forehead. "Don't worry about it."

Yachi smiles, and then blinks again. "Ah... Also, something of concern..." She rubs the back of her fingers against her chin and looks around before finally settling back on looking at Tsukishima. "The first-years seem a bit scared of you, Tsukishima-kun."

"What?" Yamaguchi says. "But they love him! The first-years love Tsukki!"

Tsukishima's a bit embarrassed at how much it pleases him that Yamaguchi's so defensive. His ghost seems happy at this too, flooding him with warmth.

"Yes, I know," Yachi says. "Which is why it's so obvious, how they're avoiding him."

All three of them turn to look at the first-years. They're currently huddled in the far corner of the gymnasium, practicing tosses with Narita and Kinoshita. One of them looks their way, and when he meets eyes with Tsukishima, nearly jumps as high as Hinata.

"I'm going to talk to them too," Yachi reassures them, "because this won't do in a team. But I wanted to ask you first, I guess, if you might know what's causing it."

Yamaguchi shakes his head as Tsukishima says, "No."

"I'm sure it's nothing, then, just the underclassmen being silly," Yachi says. She smiles at them again as she leaves, this time headed in the opposite direction, towards the first-years.

"I wonder when they started behaving like that," Yamaguchi says, thoughtfully. "It must be relatively recent..." He looks at Tsukishima out of the corner of his eye, and Tsukishima pretends to not notice. "Tsukki, do you think it started the day you looked sick? That said," he says, peering up into Tsukishima's face, "you still look sick. You look sicker than Yachi-san, actually."

"I'm fine," Tsukishima says, shortly. "But that's probably it, they're paranoid and worried about getting sick from me. Even though I'm not."

Yamaguchi gives him a disappointed look. The ghost in Tsukishima writhes, like it's in pain, and the volleyball in his hands suddenly falls through his fingers in a large mass of tangled hair.

When Tsukishima looks down, he sees something small and white in the middle of the nest of hair. He leans down to look at it. It's a single tooth.

"What is it?" Yamaguchi asks. "Why are you staring at the ball with that look on your face?"

Tsukishima looks up at Yamaguchi and sees the worry. He looks back down and sees a normal volleyball.

"Nothing, nothing," he says. "Everything's fine."  
\--

In class Tsukishima's pencils keep falling out of his hands and spilling across his desk in a mess of loose teeth. They're adult-sized, smooth and dry, like they might be on display in a dentist's office. Each time it happens, he gathers them up and dumps them into his pencil case, and reaches for a new pencil.

His papers break apart into clumps of hair, curling together and getting into tangles in his backpack. Reaching for anything in his bag turns into a protracted affair, makes him want to rush out to wash his hands immediately afterwards.

At one point he runs his hands through his own hair in frustration, and comes back with longer strands tangled between his fingers. He tries it again, and the hairs get longer, smoother, slicker. The worst part is how easily they fall out. If there'd been a tug against his scalp, a bit of pain, at least it would feel real in a way he could deal with.

\--

Pulling his practice jersey out of his bag gives Tsukishima a rush of nausea as bad as that morning. What he ends up taking out is a huge mass of hair tangled into a knot, damp and warm in the centre. It's the approximate size of his jersey, so it makes sense that it _is_ his jersey. There's nothing else in his bag he can use for practice in its stead.

Around the clubroom everyone else is changing into clothing. Tsukishima's still holding the ball of hair in one hand. He puts it down and looks away in the hopes that it'll turn back. When he looks back, it hasn't. He knows, instinctively, that he has to untangle it.

The hairs are strong, but they snap out of the knot if he tugs on them hard enough. The closer he gets to the centre, the wetter it is. Loose wet hair sticks to his fingers and dries against his skin. Trying to brush them off is futile; they just come back to cling to another part of him. His wrists, his neck, they get into his mouth.

Finally, he gets to the epicentre, where he's not surprised to find a big tooth, big as his thumbnail. Tsukishima looks at it closely. It looks very real. Rubbing his finger against it makes a squeaking sound, like rubbing cleaner on glass. He throws it into his bag and gathers up all the hairs he can to put them into the trash. They stick to him, and it takes more time than he can afford to pull them all off his uniform.

His practice jersey is in his bag when he comes back.

Tsukishima thinks he would cry if he were alone in the room.

\--

Practice itself is a disaster of dropped balls and zoning out. Tanaka actually scolds him at the end of it, but stops short when he looks at Tsukishima.

"Just help with clean up," he says gruffly, clapping his hand to Tsukishima's shoulder. "And get some sleep! Don't worry your senpais so much! Ennoshita was threatening to draw up a sleep schedule for you."

"He'd be better off making one for himself," Tsukishima says.

Tanaka barks out a laugh and ruffles his hair. Tsukishima scowls. "There you go! You've still got your old spirit. Come on then, help me with the nets."

Tsukishima knows before he touches the nets that they're going to be made of hair. It's almost a relief to feel the strands of it in his hands, wound tight and knotted together.

\--

"I'm coming with you," Tsukishima says to Yamaguchi as they're heading out. The air’s still with heat. Tsukishima fans himself with his hand.

"To my serve practice?" Yamaguchi blinks at him. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You were kinda weird in the clubroom..."

Tsukishima’s hand stills, drops down. It didn't occur to him that most of the club had seen him untangle the ball of hair that was his jersey, except that they'd just seen a jersey. He says nothing.

Yamaguchi huffs. "Alright, then. But you probably shouldn't practice with me. You were too out of it during practice today for it to be any use."

"I'll just do my homework while I wait for you," Tsukishima says. It's pretty much what he’d been angling for.

\--

At Shimada's the ghost settles. Tsukishima feels calmer too. He's seated himself on a bench and, instead of doing homework like he said he'd do, he's watching Yamaguchi practice. It's not something he lets himself do often, but he thinks he deserves something relaxing to end his day.

Shimada has Yamaguchi do several float serves to start, even though he'd perfected them more than a while ago. "It's the importance of muscle memory," he says. "You want your body to remember the motions it takes to succeed, and then you want your body to remember what it feels like to succeed. So we keep this up, and then we'll work on the other serves we've talked about."

Yamaguchi nods, training his serious, dark eyes on the volleyball in his hands. He moves through the motions, throwing the volleyball into the air and smacking it with his right hand. It works perfectly.

 _The boy I like has deceptive hands_ , Tsukishima thinks, watching the confusing trajectory of the ball. It feels good, and also like maybe he's responsible for part of it, for the bit of a mean streak that Yamaguchi has that translates to this tricky serve. His heart speeds up a bit at that, and his ghost shivers. He licks his lips.

"Take a bit of break, and then we'll get back to it," Shimada says. "Would you like to join us, Tsukki?"

The only reason Tsukishima doesn't snap back at the nickname is because he knows Shimada picked it up from Yamaguchi. Still, it's hard, so he only shakes his head in response.

After an awkward pause, Yamaguchi speaks for him. "He's had a rough few days, and regular practice was kind of... Anyway, he needs to rest up, right Tsukki?" Yamaguchi grins at him. Tsukishima stares and nods.

Shimada coughs. "Well, I'll go get the both of you some water," he says, heading into his store.

Yamaguchi comes up to the bench and bumps his knee against Tsukishima's. "Hey, try to be nice to Shimada-san, okay?"

"Nice?" Tsukishima asks back. "I'm not being mean." He's staring at the point where their knees are touching. Yamaguchi hasn't pulled away yet, and the warmth is seeping through the fabric of his pants. It's kind of embarrassing, staring at Yamaguchi's bare knees and feeling so fond of them.

"You know what I mean," Yamaguchi says, and sits next to him, the entire length of his leg pressing against Tsukishima's.

Has the result of today's fucked up moments made him more sensitive? Why is this touch burning up in him so much? Tsukishima wants to press back, along his entire body. He wants to turn into the touch, press his face against Yamaguchi's, cheek to cheek. He's holding himself back.

"Oh, Shimada-san's back," Yamaguchi says, and his practice resumes.

\--

With how tall he is himself, Tsukishima often forgets that Yamaguchi is pretty tall too. It's hard to not think about it now, though. The length is in his legs, which are sometimes too embarrassing to look at closely during practice, and are particularly painful to think about when Tsukishima's mind keeps wandering back to the moment they had shared on the bench. His ghost had enjoyed it a lot. So had he.

For their walk back home from Shimada's, Yamaguchi's changed back into his school uniform. By sheer amount of fabric involved, it's already more modest than their practice uniforms, but Tsukishima constantly amazes himself with how immodest he can make something in his mind.

Case in point: Yamaguchi's long legs translate to long limbs, and so his uniform gakuran sleeves are the slightest bit too short, ending halfway down the curve of his wrist bone. If he moves his arms in any way, the sleeve lifts up, showing the rest of his wrist. He moves his arms a lot on their walk home. The sharp cut-off of the sleeve, and the uniform's stark colour against his skin, draws the eye, makes it more _something_ that makes Tsukishima want to squirm. It's weird to feel this way about someone's wrists, and the self-awareness makes it weirder, and that makes Tsukishima's neck feel hotter, and it all leads into a positive-feedback loop that he can't ever hope to escape.

Yamaguchi's saying something, and Tsukishima's managed to distract himself and his ghost so thoroughly that they miss all of it.

"What?" Tsukishima says, feeling dazed.

Yamaguchi blushes. "I said, are you--" he cuts himself off, with a shake of his head. "Nevermind, maybe I shouldn’t."

“What? Am I what?”

“It’s not important.”

Tsukishima frowns. “Well, I want to know.”

Yamaguchi clicks his tongue, rubs the back of his neck, looks away. “You don’t talk to Shimada-san much. Usually you’re…”

Tsukishima feels like something exciting is about to happen. There’s a thrill coursing through him, and his ghost picks up on it, wriggling excitedly, feeding off his energy and giving back more. “Usually I’m?”

“More polite. With adults.” Yamaguchi looks straight into Tsukishima’s face, a small crease between his eyebrows. “Why are you rude to Shimada-san? You know he’s important to me.”

 _Yes, that’s what it is_ , Tsukishima thinks. Shimada-san is important to Yamaguchi, and right now Tsukishima doesn’t like that. Did he ever? Probably he was fine with it as some point, and maybe one day he’ll be fine with it again, but right now, when he can’t have what he wants, or what he thinks he wants, or what the ghost in him wants, Tsukishima can’t stand it.

Tsukishima’s smiling, he knows it. The ghost in him is expanding, it feels like, self-satisfied.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi says, looking worried. “Are you alright?”

Tsukishima schools his face into a blank look. “Sorry,” he says. “I’ll be more polite to Shimada-san.” His heart is beating fast as he says this.

Yamaguchi blinks at him, like he can’t believe how easy that conversation was. Tsukishima licks his lips. He widens his eyes. He leans imperceptibly forward.

“What were you going to say before that? You were going to ask me if I was something, but then, instead, you told me something you knew I was.”

Yamaguchi startles. His gaze skitters away, and he brings his hand up to his cheeks, like he’s trying to hide his freckles.

“Tell me?” Tsukishima asks, in his softest, most coaxing voice.

Yamaguchi visibly crumbles in the face of it, eyes looking down and then back up. “I was going to… I was going to ask if, well, I thought maybe, you were jealous. Of Shimada-san, because of all the time I spend with him.”

“Oh,” Tsukishima whispers, leaning further forward.

Yamaguchi’s angled his face up, and his expression is wondrous. He doesn’t seem to believe that Tsukishima’s not denying anything. He’s looking at Tsukishima, at his eyes then at his mouth, and Tsukishima looks back, tracking the motion.

He feels like they’re stuck in the middle of a tableau, placed there to please someone’s eye, against the backdrop a hot summer evening. He wants to complete the picture properly, play out the action he’s started. The ghost in him agrees. He tilts his head, leans closer, close enough to…

And then he thinks, _what if I kiss Yamaguchi and all I feel against my face is hair and teeth?_

The thought shocks him so much he pulls back. He doesn’t know why it’s a shock though. It’s what he’s been feeling all day.

“What a surprise,” Yamaguchi says, eyelids lowered and turning his face away.

\--

The entire rest of the walk back home, Tsukishima feels like his clothes are rubbing wrong against his skin, but he doesn't look down to confirm what's happened to them; he can already tell from the way his ghost is reacting.

Focusing on what his ghost is doing (whining, squirming, hissing), is good. It distracts him from trying to figure out his own feelings. If he can manage to push them away forever, then all the better.

It does not really feel like a great decision when Yamaguchi says goodbye to him, without looking at his face and without saying his name.

\--

In bed that night, the sheets are soft and made of cotton. His ghost doesn't rest, though. It cries, it cries, it cries.

Tsukishima wants to join in. _I fucked up_ , he thinks, feeling cold despite the warm air of the night. _I ruined everything, again_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for all chapters, including this one, at [this link](http://psidn.tumblr.com/ghost-story)

Tsukishima wakes up to a pain in his teeth. It reminds him of when he got a filling, a sharp pain reaching through his tooth to his gum, localized in his molars. He moves his tongue around in his mouth, testing out the feel. There's something strange in there.

His ghost is suspiciously quiet.

Tsukishima slides his fingers into his mouth, feeling along the sharp ridges of his teeth. There, in the back. There's something soft and foreign, growing out of his tooth. He presses down on it tenderly, and the thing gives, it bursts across his fingers, and pain bursts across his brain.

It finally subsides several moments later, and Tsukishima pulls himself out of the tense knot he'd twitched into, pulls his fingers out of his mouth. When they slide against his tongue, the taste is sweet, and when he looks at them he sees red. Red, sliding down to his palms, speckled with impossibly small seeds.

He spits into his hand, and finds a mangled strawberry.

Tsukishima brushes his teeth.

\--

Tsukishima's running late. He'd had no appetite after finding something growing in his mouth, so he skipped breakfast, and then he stood outside in the hot sun waiting for Yamaguchi to show up for their walk to school. He thought maybe Yamaguchi had slept in, but then, belatedly, he realized that maybe Yamaguchi doesn't want to see him, that he's just not going to show up.

So, Tsukishima's running late. _It's not my fault_ , he wants to say to Yamaguchi, but how? His ghost starts crying again.

"Shut up," Tsukishima says, starting his walk to school, alone. "You're giving me a headache."

\--

At school, after his lonely walk, he feels hungry. Another few minutes won't make a difference when he’s already late for practice, so he sidetracks to a vending machine to get a milk box.

It tastes rotten. He spits out his first sip into the closest garbage can he finds.

The expiration date on the box hasn’t passed, and plus, Tsukishima knows what bad milk tastes like, and that’s not what this was. He rips open the top of the box to look at the milk. It’s an opaque white, no sign of curdling. It smells like milk, all wholesome and whatever. He gives it another taste through the straw, and regrets it immediately.

Once he’s cleaned out his mouth with water from his bottle, he can think more clearly. The taste is familiar. It's a rotten taste, just not milk. It’s rotten fruit.

"Do you want me to starve?" he asks his ghost.

His ghost lets out its wail, shaking within Tsukishima's body, sending cold vibrations across his back, down his arms.

"Useless," Tsukishima says, and he skips practice completely.

\--

"Hi," Yamaguchi says when he comes to class. "Sorry I didn't stop by this morning."

He looks worn out: the line of his shoulders tense, the corners of his mouth tight, the space under his eyes dark. He won't meet Tsukishima's gaze properly.

"That's-- that's fine," Tsukishima says. "You look tired."

That gets Yamaguchi to look at him, sharply. "Really? What about you?"

When Tsukishima says nothing, Yamaguchi sighs. "You weren't at practice. So don't do this thing, where you pretend you're fine. You have to know by now. Just, say it out loud, fuck."

"I'm tired," Tsukishima concedes.

Yamaguchi glares at him. "I guess that's good enough."

\--

Yamaguchi goes somewhere else during lunch, and Tsukishima pretends that's fine. He has more pressing concerns right now, anyway. He's so hungry. The pain in his stomach feels like it's carving out a home in there.

But each time he puts something to his lips, his mouth, his tongue, it turns into something else, and the stink of it, sweet and sick and sour all the way through, is too much. So he loses his appetite.

And then he gets hungry again, and tries to eat again, and loses his appetite again.

He's sitting behind the building for the clubhouse, leaning against the wall. He feels faint, and wants to conserve his energy.

"I don't understand you," Tsukishima whispers out loud. It's meant for his ghost, but upon reflection, it could be meant for himself, too.

The ghost sighs, and it travels all the way through him. It's a release of stress, and it feels like claws gently letting go of flesh. Tsukishima pictures it, imagines it’s happening to his own back, little beads of blood forming through cuts.

His ghost interrupts his thoughts by shoving him into another memory.

\--

Tsukishima knows it's back to that day, the only kiss. He suspects he knows this because of the feel of the day, but also because his ghost is obsessed with this, its origin. Otherwise, most of this memory is unfamiliar.

He's in Yamaguchi's room (familiar), but alone on the bed (unfamiliar), and crying into his hands (mostly unfamiliar). He pulls his hands away and when he sees them (deceptive hands! freckles spattered across the knuckles, callouses along the palms), he knows it's Yamaguchi's memory. That he's experiencing Yamaguchi cry after a disappointment. After dealing with a disappointment. After dealing with Tsukishima.

Tsukishima wants to reach across time and space and personal boundaries to the actual moment this happened, so that he can reassure Yamaguchi, so that he can fix this. Instead he sits there, experiencing it the way he supposes he deserves.

It takes a good few minutes to realize that the sniffling coming from Yamaguchi, his cries, that belong to him, are what the ghost has been using all this time. Each time it had wailed and moped and cried, from the night before everything started and then all the way through, every time the ghost had gotten upset, this is what it had been using. Tsukishima feels a rage within him that's surprising in its strength. Those are Yamaguchi's sounds and feelings, and no one else should take them like that. They belong to one person, and Tsukishima may have fucked up a lot of things, but he wouldn't-- he doesn't like-- he can't _stand_ that something so personal like this can be taken away from his-- from his--

\--

Tsukishima feels like he's tumbled out of the memory, a tangle of raw nerves.

"He's my _friend_ ," he spits out. "He's still my friend. Don't fucking interrupt me like that."

He sits there stewing for the rest of lunch, during which time he grows and spits out five more wrecked strawberries from his mouth.

\--

Tsukishima goes to afternoon practice. Ennoshita points back out the door the moment he comes into the clubroom. He’s so weak from not eating it’s almost tempting.

"Out," Ennoshita says. "I think we were all relieved when you didn't come this morning, so go back home and get some sleep."

"I wasn't going to join in," Tsukishima says, trying to think of an excuse to stick around. He has to stay. He has to see Yamaguchi. "I was thinking of watching and, um, helping Yachi with stuff."

" _Stuff_ ," Ennoshita says, with a little movement of his head, and the appropriate amount of derision the word deserves in this context. "You were thinking of watching and helping Yachi with _stuff_."

Ennoshita is what Tsukishima would be if he didn't feel like adding a layer of rude politeness to most of his interactions. Tsukishima admires that, but not when it's aimed at himself.

"Yeah, so," he says, staring past where Ennoshita's trying to take up all the space in the doorway, to the lockers where Yamaguchi's talking with the others. He folds his hands together in front of him, thumbs rubbing against each other. "I'll just put my... stuff, away, here."

They stand like that for nearly a minute until Tanaka comes and slaps Ennoshita on the back. "You're the world's best captain, Ennoshita!"

"Thanks." Ennoshita says the word very carefully, maintaining eye contact with Tsukishima the entire time. He moves aside, though. "That means a lot coming from my vice-captain," he adds, voice dry and flat.

Tsukishima really does admire Ennoshita.

He does not admire Kageyama, who says, the moment he sees Tsukishima, "Well, you seem fucked up."

"Say 'messed up'! You lost the rudeness bet, Kageyama!" Hinata shouts from across the room, watching Kageyama, a predator on the hunt for profanities.

"Mess the rudeness bet, then," Kageyama grumbles. "I'll buy you candy if you drop it."

Hinata seems genuinely torn at the prospect of having to choose between candy and experiencing Kageyama lose a bet, both things which he loves with an abnormal intensity. "Okay..." he says, swinging his arm out to point at Kageyama, "but that won’t work next time!"

“Won’t Kageyama spend more money on the candy than he would paying up?” Yamaguchi asks. “Er,” he says, when he sees the way both Hinata and Kageyama glare at him. “Just an observation!”

“You have too much faith in them acting normally about anything,” Tsukishima says.

Yamaguchi looks at him, a smile almost tugging at his lips. Then he turns away to stuff the last of his belongings into his locker, and he leaves. Tsukishima’s ghost jerks within him, like it’s trying to follow after Yamaguchi.

"Phew," Hinata says. "Awkward."

"Dumbass," Kageyama says.

Tsukishima thinks that it's probably meant for him and not Hinata.

\--

Tsukishima follows Yachi around during practice.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" she asks, fiddling with her clipboard.

"I said I'd help you," he says.

Yachi sighs. "How about you just walk around the perimeter of the gym and pick up stray balls."

Tsukishima narrows his eyes at her. He has the distinct feeling she's giving him something too easy to mess up.

"It's very important work," she adds, shifting her eyes. "Keeps everyone happy. Make sure you go _very_ slowly!"

Tsukishima does one round of the gym properly, dutifully picking up volleyballs and either putting them away or handing them back. After his single round though, he keeps straying back to where Yamaguchi's doing passing drills with the first years. Each time the ball loses its way, Tsukishima's right there, already holding it ready for Yamaguchi.

The first years are skittish around Tsukishima, but Yamaguchi chastises them and takes the ball from Tsukishima's hands every single time. He even smiles once.

"You really shouldn't have come to practice," he says, which almost kills the effect the smile had on Tsukishima. "I thought you'd said you were only going to watch? You're doing just as much damage as if you'd joined in, anyway."

Tsukishima just stares, helplessly, at the ball he's holding in his hands. Yamaguchi puts his hand on top of Tsukishima's, on top of the ball. It feels like Tsukishima’s ghost is trying to crawl back up through his throat.

"Go sit," Yamaguchi says. "Yachi-san will understand. I'm sure it was you being stubborn that made her give you this job."

\--

Yachi joins him on the bench where he’s feeling out the strawberry seeds that keep appearing in his mouth with his tongue, and watching Yamaguchi continue his drills.

"Good to see Yamaguchi-kun talked some sense into you," Yachi says. She holds out a powerbar. 

Tsukishima takes it and unwraps it. He thinks he might be hungry enough to force it down. "How did you know?"

"You actually listen to him," she says, trying not to smile. "The rest of us have a much harder time."

They watch Yamaguchi praise one of the first years who blushes and stammers his way through a thanks. Tsukishima takes a bite of his powerbar, focuses on Yamaguchi’s easy smile, and manages to chew the bite and swallow it down like a pill. Its awful taste gets somewhat lost in how small he feels.

Something in his peripheral vision makes him turn around.

"Oh no," Yachi says softly, which means that she is also watching Nishinoya trying to climb onto Hinata's shoulders. "Should? Should someone stop them?"

"No," Tsukishima says, and hopes that neither Ukai or Ennoshita turn around to see the disaster that's unfolding. He takes another bite, huge and hungry.

Nishinoya's made his way onto Hinata's shoulders. As one unit they turn to face Tsukishima. Nishinoya points forward and Hinata takes a step and they both wobble. Hinata manages to steady them, and continues their journey to Tsukishima's bench.

"Nevermind," Tsukishima says. "Someone should stop them immediately."

"Ha ha," Yachi says, which Tsukishima thinks is inexplicably cruel of her.

Hinata and Nishinoya come to a stop by the bench.

"Stand up," Nishinoya says.

Tsukishima turns his head to ignore them. He finishes off his powerbar and crumples the packaging in his fist.

"Shouyou, pinch him."

Hinata pinches Tsukishima right above his elbow.

"Hey!" Tsukishima snaps.

"Stand up," Nishinoya says again.

Tsukishima stands up.

Nishinoya leans forward. He sways dangerously.

"Noya-senpai," Hinata whines. "Please don't fall."

"Do you see what you make your senpai do, Tsukishima?" Nishinoya says. "First I have to reach the appropriate height, then I have to make you stand up, and only then can I pull your ear." He pulls on Tsukishima's ear, a sharp tug that burns.

"Hey!" Tsukishima says, again, rubbing at his ear. "The pinch wasn't enough? What was _that_ for?"

"The pinch was an unforeseen required step," Nishinoya says, darkly. "Much like a stream of water, a person must know when to divert the flow to reach their goal. As for the ear pull, do you think we can't all see you perving on Yamaguchi and then doing! whatever it is that you do! to upset him?"

“Creeeepy,” Hinata snickers.

Tsukishima gapes at them, ignoring the flattered feeling he’s getting off his ghost. Then he stutters out, "I-- I was going to talk to him and fix it!"

"My kouhai are so cute," Nishinoya says, now pinching Tsukishima's cheek. "Turning all red. Being all gross."

"Noya!" Ennoshita barks from across the gym. "What are you doing!"

"Oh shit," Nishinoya says, and slips down Hinata's back to run away.

Hinata rubs his left shoulder with his right hand. "I don't know how Tanaka-senpai manages to do that," he mutters.

"Tanaka-san is much stronger than you," Tsukishima says.

"Would you like a shoulder rub, Hinata?" Yachi asks.

Hinata perks up. "Yeah!"

Yachi nods. "I'm sure Kageyama-kun would be happy to help you out after practice."

"Maybe I can trade my candy for a shoulder rub," Hinata says as he wanders away. He stops before he gets too far and turns around, pointing at Tsukishima. "Noya-senpai's not the only one who's noticed you and Yamaguchi being weird! Don't let the team down!"

"Yes, Hinata," Tsukishima says. "I very clearly remember you saying 'awkward' in the clubroom."

Hinata sticks his tongue out and finally leaves.

Yachi hums knowingly to herself. “I’m glad you liked the powerbar,” she says.

\--

Tsukishima waits for Yamaguchi outside the clubhouse. Nishinoya gives him a wink and finger-guns when he comes out, Tanaka slaps him on the back and scruffs his hair, and Yachi smiles at him while Hinata and Kageyama follow after her like ducklings, arguing over the exchange rate for shoulder rubs and candy.

Each time it’s someone who isn’t Yamaguchi, another strawberry grows out of his teeth. Tsukishima crushes them between his molars and swallows them down, wiping his mouth of the juice that dribbles out.

Finally, Yamaguchi walks out, each of his steps slow and considerate.

"We're still walking together, right?" Tsukishima asks.

Yamaguchi stops. He huffs out a laugh, and he looks so warm and approachable in the light coming from the clubhouse fixtures, turned on since practice ran late enough that the sky's half dark. "You’ve got a bit more colour in your face,” he says, and then, “That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you’d say.” He wraps his arms around himself. "Yeah, of course. Just because-- just because I'm upset doesn't mean we've stopped being friends."

"Okay," Tsukishima says. That's good.

Yamaguchi starts walking again and Tsukishima follows after him. They go in silence until Yamaguchi says, almost too quietly, "Just because we’re still friends doesn't mean I've stopped being upset, either."

The ghost in Tsukishima seizes up, causing an odd pain in his chest. Tsukishima rubs his palm against the pain, feeling relieved. Starting up conversations is always hardest.

They've both stopped walking again, this time near a park.

"You keep jerking me around. Or, well, you _did_ jerk me around, yesterday. You think I've been doing fine since last year? How fucking embarrassing.” Yamaguchi’s eyes are bright and the words keep coming, faster and faster, and the pain in Tsukishima’s chest gets tighter and tighter. “I lay myself wide open for you, and you just-- you just stood there. You did nothing! You didn't even acknowledge it--"

"I haven't stopped thinking about it," Tsukishima rushes out in a confession. "It felt like it came out of nowhere, so--"

"Nowhere! Is? _Nowhere?_ Has our entire-- is everything nothing? What?"

Tsukishima lets out a helpless laugh, at odds with the uncomfortable writhing his ghost is doing. "That makes no sense."

Yamaguchi jerks forward and grips Tsukishima’s shoulders, hard. "Don't laugh at me!" he says, eyes wild, shaking Tsukishima a bit, his breathing coming heavy enough that the rise and fall of his chest is obvious. His anger is sobering. 

"Sorry,” Tsukishima says, softly. He lifts his hands up to Yamaguchi’s wrists, circles them in a loose grip. “I didn't mean to. I wasn't laughing at you. Just. Um."

They stand there, quiet again. Tsukishima can feel the urgent pulse on the inside of Yamaguchi’s wrists. He wants to break from this position and wrap Yamaguchi up in his arms, but he knows he can't do that, not yet.

"I don't know what you want," Yamaguchi says, hanging his head. "But whatever it is, I'll be happy to... Well, I won't be happy if you say you never want to see me again, but. I'll do it, you know. I'll do whatever you want."

Tsukishima gapes at him. His hands tighten, reflexively. 

"I must have been pretty annoying," Yamaguchi mumbles, lifting his head but looking to the side, avoiding looking at Tsukishima. "Bothering you about sleep and-- and assuming stuff. But I can stop, you know, it's--"

"I don't want you to stop," Tsukishima says. He moves his thumbs in slow circles on the pulse-points of Yamaguchi’s wrists.

Yamaguchi’s hands twitch on his shoulders, and he gives a flicker of a smile. It's not a happy one. "That's nice to know," he says.

_He doesn't understand_ , Tsukishima thinks. _I have to be very clear_.

"I like it," Tsukishima says, loosening his hands and letting them drift down Yamaguchi’s forearms just to tighten them again, right before the elbow. The muscles in Yamaguchi’s forearms are obvious here, and satisfying to dig his fingers into. "I like having your attention. I want it."

This time, Yamaguchi's the one gaping at him. He flushes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Can I kiss you?" Tsukishima asks, and the anticipation he’s feeling is so all-encompassing, that he’s not sure where he ends and his ghost starts.

"Will you pretend it didn't happen, or pull away before committing?" Yamaguchi asks back. He looks angry and hopeful, but he hasn’t moved away and his fingers are still clutching at Tsukishima’s shoulders, just shy of painful.

"I'm going to do it properly," Tsukishima says, an echo of agreement bouncing within him. "As properly as I can, and if you want, we can have a round-table discussion about it afterwards."

"You're an asshole," Yamaguchi says, and leans forward. "Can you make a circle with just two points, anyway?"

Tsukishima pulls Yamaguchi further forward, tugging on his arms until they’re pressed against each other, and finally, finally Yamaguchi’s properly in his grasp. He’s moved his hands away from Yamaguchi’s arms to touch his jaw; the skin there is warm and solid and soft, and there’s a pulse, right there, that delights something in Tsukishima. He tilts his head, leans closer, close enough that he has to shut his eyes before he presses his mouth against Yamaguchi’s.

It lasts a while. It’s a completely new sensation for Tsukishima and so he goes about it slowly and carefully and curiously, taking little pauses to pull away before he gives up on trying to show restraint. He decides that maybe he doesn’t care if he’s bad at this, not when Yamaguchi makes a small sad sound each time they break apart even a bit.

Yamaguchi tastes like himself, which is not something that Tsukishima can define yet. When they pull apart, properly, Yamaguchi's the only one looking at him, and Tsukishima and his ghost are the only ones looking back.

"If you're not given the radius, I think you could come up with an infinite number of circles," Tsukishima says. His voice sounds hoarse, even to himself. He clears his throat.

Yamaguchi sighs, and then smiles his brilliant smile. “For someone who’s so smart, you sure are dense sometimes,” he says.

Tsukishima leans back, out of their shared space, far back enough he’s looking up at the sky. He breathes in the air like it’s also something new to experience, rubs his palm against his chest again. The pain's eased up, like a knot of muscle that's loosened up under the application of heat. There's a warmth blossoming from the spot, bleeding through Tsukishima's entire body, making him feel awake. He licks his lips, and swallows the small sharp strawberry seeds still in his mouth.


End file.
